


Like All The Other Kids

by hellhoundsprey



Series: ficlet prompts [13]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: 'verse' is short for 'versatile' which means the character both bottoms AND tops in this fic, Alternate Universe - Normal Life, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, Incest Kink, M/M, Verse Dean, verse sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-29
Updated: 2018-07-29
Packaged: 2019-06-18 02:38:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15475686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellhoundsprey/pseuds/hellhoundsprey
Summary: Prompt: Wincest and incest kink? Like, getting off on that whole big brother thing etc. Bottom Sam or Dean teaching him while being on the bottom.I completely ran away with the incest kink and things got angsty.





	Like All The Other Kids

He’d love to say he doesn’t remember when it started, but truth is he does: Sam wrapping up junior high. This initiation phase into adulthood, or something; Dean likes to think it helped pushing them over the edge. High school and sex and your first beer, that belongs together.

Sam’s the ratty kind of boy. Not extraordinarily handsome or anything, rather the shy bookworm who couldn’t drop a decent pick-up line if his life depended on it, but hell, once you get him talking, nothing can stop him.

Sam’s always been clingy. Says his therapist blames it on being raised without a mom, and, you know. “‘Co-de-pen-den-cy.’” Sam taps the syllables out on Dean’s breastbone and digs his face deeper into his armpit. “It means,” he sighs, and Dean can feel him cracking a smile, “I feel like I’ll die if you’re not around.”

Sam’s therapist is full of shit. But Sam shares his pills because he’s the best little brother.

Dean’s been to a joint session, once. Sat there for an hour and answered sugar-coated questions darting around the true hot topic—have you crawled into your brother and worn his skin yet? Because that’s the only thing separating them, at times. The outside world knows as much.

They’re inside each other alright.

But just like that therapist, nobody seems to notice, or care. Boys will be boys. Their mom died when they were babies. They spend so much time together, isn’t it cute?

Dean combs his fingers through Sam’s too-long hair and wonders if it’s still gonna be cute in thirty years.

~

Sam is spider-limbs and morning-hoarseness. He’s books and books and paper-cuts, love notes over breakfast, camouflaged in statements that begin with, “There was this line that made me think of you.”

Sam reads absurd (amounts and types of) novels. Violence or girl-stuff or fantasy, nothing is safe. Dean’s heard so many snippets, and all scream his name. That shit shouldn’t even be possible. But that’s a thought Dean has daily.

Sam has a way with words that never was quite available to Dean. As an ace at learning by heart, reciting poems upon being prompted, the kid basically is a walking library. Dean’s more of the hands-on type. Learning by doing. Sam picked up Bobby’s joke on how Dean would easily learn a new language in a week if he was taught while working in the garage.

Sam says he likes his hands. That he wants hands just like that once they have stopped growing, together with the rest of him. So far, he looks like he’s in luck. They like to hold their hands palm to palm, used to do it so little Sammy could check how big he’s getting aside from the marks in the door frame.

“See?” Dean would say, “Almost as big as mine.”

~

Ever since he can remember, Sam looked at him like he hung the moon. Huge, and capable. A superhero. A god.

He still does that, even though it’s become less frequent the taller he grows, the more he understands. The more he realizes they’re not that different at all, and that life is pretty damn boring and disappointing.

He catches him doing it in the most insignificant moments. When Dad’s working early and Dean’s getting breakfast ready like any good mom. When Dean wakes up and Sam’s stupid face is the first thing he sees.

“I forget, sometimes,” Sam explains.

He doesn’t finish the sentence, but Dean knows exactly where it would have gone.

~

“God, I need you so bad.”

Liquid courage never fails to cut his tongue loose. Sam says he doesn’t mind (at all).

Dean’s face-buried in that still-dressed chicken-chest and is held by those wiry arms, and it feels like they’re crushing each other. Which would be alright, in a greater sense.

Sam’s out of his pants at a speed you would suspect from any seventeen-year-old. Dean’s had just enough to feel slightly tipsy but doesn’t bother to get his hands on his own jeans—Sam prefers to do that for him.

“You gon’ get it out, huh? Suck your big brother’s dick, Sammy?”

Sam replies with a gulp, a nod, and a yank on Dean’s button-down fly.

“What? So worked up you got tongue-tied?”

Sam tells him, “Jerk,” but cranes his spindly thin neck to meet that kiss halfway.

Dean groans deep with one hand wringing his dick, the other cradling his balls. Sam’s got force in him you wouldn’t expect out of those ninety pounds. It’s one of those band-aids Dean is granted for his little brother growing and growing and growing. “God. Fuck.” Dean grinds into the touches and feels Sammy grinning against his turned cheek. “Slow, fuck. You’re gonna kill me.”

That slip-slide from balls to perineum to his asshole is as much of a surprise as snow in January, but shit, he still shivers for it. Sighs, and bites back a snarl, because Sam loves putting him off kilter.

“You better not…if you don’t plan to…”

Dean’s face screws up just a little at that impatient finger worming into him, dry, because Sam is a goddamn monster wearing an angel face.

Dean is being told, “It’s been a week,” as if Sam had to plead his case. But it’s the answer to his unasked question, so he can’t even roll his eyes.

“Good.”

Sam’s clumsy. He grew too fast for too long, like in-velvet deer, kicking and running to escape all that energy caged into his little-boy heart.

He fucks just like that, too, and Dean’s not one to be overwhelmed quickly but Sam, he’s an over-achiever, always. Exhausting, at times. Which Dean can put up with, most of the time. _Most_ of the time.

It’s easiest when he’s a little drunk and Dad’s sure not to come home in another one to three days.

Sam’s not as restricted as him. He’s rode his dick with Dad snoring just on the other side of the wall, and Dean almost died under the constant _creak creak crack_ of the bed. After getting too close to real tears, Sam allowed himself to be re-positioned on the floor.

Sam is the kind of kid you can feed and feed, but it will never be enough.

“Like…?”

“Yeah, like that, just… Go ahead. Uh, _yeah_.”

Dean grunts with his face buried in the family couch.

Sam rubs and grabs uselessly at his ass cheek, his love handles. He’s trying to pull him back onto his dick and, once he realizes that’s not happening, lets his hips melt forward.

All Dean hears is breathing and the smallest, happiest sighs. Sam’s not too vocal with his dick inside someone.

Dean can feel his heart beating up against his guts. “Slow, man… I’m not…”

They’re pelvis to tailbone in another swift push, and Dean’s pores gush with a too-sudden sweat.

Dean’s little brother is well-aware of how easily he may pluck those strings. “Sorry.”

Dean manages, “You’re _not_ ,” but physically cannot stay mad because Sam’s plastering onto his back now, threads his arms underneath him to get the leverage he needs, and—well, uses.

Dean can’t imagine doing this with anyone else. Let someone else do this, to him. Let anyone else take his place.

Sam’s grunting like a real man. “Feels good, big brother?”

Dean can’t even _think_ language.

“’S what you wanted, right? Your little brother’s big—”

“Uhn—”

“—fat—”

“— _uh_ —”

“—cock? Cuz I’ve been thinking about it. This, just like this.”

Sam’s mouth runs in-synch with his dick, with the sole purpose of knocking Dean over. Dean’s trying foreign versions of some sort of approval, something to soothe the burn Sam apparently is running on. Things are going so fucking fast, lately. Between them, that is.

Sam sulks different than girls. He can be mean. Dean cannot.

~

Entering Sam’s room means you _will_ step on at least one book, and _he_ will hate you for it.

“Man, you should open a window or something.”

“And you should go choke on a dick.”

Dean flips him off and Sam narrows his eyes at him climbing onto his bed, but doesn’t kick him off. A kiss appeases him. A French kiss lets his legs melt loose.

Sammy puts his current read away for Dean taking his dick out of his pants.

He hums, “Mh,” like he’s dreaming, one last peck onto Dean’s mouth before that’s gone south, kissing down his clothed chest. He hikes up his shirt to feel those lips on his navel, his ever-expanding treasure trail. Dean always makes sure to tease him. Sam’s butter-soft for a tease, always.

They get those shorts off soon enough, so Sam’s thighs can part that much easier. He pets through Dean’s hair while getting sucked off. Halfway through, he remembers.

Dean feels that whole-body shock. “Isn’t he...?”

Dean pops off to soothe, “I locked the door,” and Sam just shudders, “Oh…okay,” before falling quiet again.

Sam is so bendy Dean made him suck his own dick many, many times. Can just fold him up in the middle, knees next to those ears, and all Sam has to say to that is a puppy-huff. That face is ridiculously flushed while he’s getting his skinny ass eaten out, and Dean loves loves loves it.

By the time Dean is done with him, his dick is so ruddy it’s edging on purple. Sam’s whispering, “Please,” and reaches out for him, a hug, a kiss, just being close. Dean gives him everything.

Sam is ivy-limbs and nothing-but-coffee breath. He’ll take a dick up his ass in perfect silence if he must, even though he doesn’t want to (the silence part, that is). Coming hands-free or not, he’s gonna ignore Dean for about four hours for knocking his book off the bed and losing his page.


End file.
